We moved half my shit from storage into what should become a living room some day (in the yet unforseeable distant future).
Do you know how many fucking books I own? Do you have any clue how much I worship books? Have you any clue how much a desire for words and pictures on printed page far outweigh how much I hate lifting heavy shit up and down stairs and through doorways so narrow they shave your knuckle skins when you shove past them?
Uhm.
I'm going to trash everything else, or sell it, or donate it. But not my damn books. Pry them from my cold, bloody hands.
Heh. And you know the best part about getting all my stuff back after 1.7 years in some stupid ghetto city going the wrong way down the 80? My horrible abandoned CD collection.
These are the cds that I never put inside my music carry-all folder, because they were either too embarrassing or I never listened to them or I already had another copy somewhere else. Like the bile of the crop. Stuff I would never mention here because all you need to know is that I have whorish taste in music. (But see, I can do that -- have no definable taste in music -- because I'm a motherfucking artist and I just listen to whatever I can paint to. Or whatever I can jiggle my ass to. Pretty much no discernable difference between the two activities.)
So yeah, the best part of the best part is: torturing D with my newly recovered bile music.
... You ... you really don't want to know. And neither does he. But see HE has no choice in the matter. Perks and hazards of the Me, my love ... perks and hazards.
In other news, I feel fucking burly. I'm taking all sorts of ghey classes like yoga, Pilates, bellydancing ... and it's making me feel like the Incredible Hulk. Really, like green and shit. Like, Lou Ferigno before he started charging money just to look at him. I could tear your arms from your body using only my thighs. I could snap your feet off at the ankles with just a dirty look.
After I'm done being all sore and shit. I could kill you with my bare hands. Really I could.
In a minute.
Do you know how many fucking books I own? Do you have any clue how much I worship books? Have you any clue how much a desire for words and pictures on printed page far outweigh how much I hate lifting heavy shit up and down stairs and through doorways so narrow they shave your knuckle skins when you shove past them?
Uhm.
I'm going to trash everything else, or sell it, or donate it. But not my damn books. Pry them from my cold, bloody hands.
Heh. And you know the best part about getting all my stuff back after 1.7 years in some stupid ghetto city going the wrong way down the 80? My horrible abandoned CD collection.
These are the cds that I never put inside my music carry-all folder, because they were either too embarrassing or I never listened to them or I already had another copy somewhere else. Like the bile of the crop. Stuff I would never mention here because all you need to know is that I have whorish taste in music. (But see, I can do that -- have no definable taste in music -- because I'm a motherfucking artist and I just listen to whatever I can paint to. Or whatever I can jiggle my ass to. Pretty much no discernable difference between the two activities.)
So yeah, the best part of the best part is: torturing D with my newly recovered bile music.
... You ... you really don't want to know. And neither does he. But see HE has no choice in the matter. Perks and hazards of the Me, my love ... perks and hazards.
In other news, I feel fucking burly. I'm taking all sorts of ghey classes like yoga, Pilates, bellydancing ... and it's making me feel like the Incredible Hulk. Really, like green and shit. Like, Lou Ferigno before he started charging money just to look at him. I could tear your arms from your body using only my thighs. I could snap your feet off at the ankles with just a dirty look.
After I'm done being all sore and shit. I could kill you with my bare hands. Really I could.
In a minute.
VIEW 15 of 15 COMMENTS
rikku:
thanks for the comment of my set! 
chai:
thx so much! haha the donut, yes, its a strange object 